Mending His Pajamas
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mr. Carson has lost a button. Mrs. Hughes sews it back on.


When she heard Mr. Carson's muffled voice on the telephone in his pantry, Mrs. Hughes pulled a few things from her desk drawer and hurried upstairs to the attics. He was occupied with his telephone call, so she would have time to take care of something in Mr. Carson's room. Even if he finished his call quickly, there was no reason he would be upstairs, nor should anyone else be there to find her. Mrs. Hughes looked around for witnesses, but the corridor was empty, so she hurried up the men's staircase. She slipped quietly into his room and opened a few drawers until she found a pajama top. She closed it and went to sit on Mr. Carson's bed. She pulled a button and needle and thread out of the small workbag she had brought with her and began sewing the button on in place of one that had gone missing.

"Don't turn around, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said from behind her. She was so startled that she pricked her finger with the needle.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Carson," she apologized, not moving from her seat on the bed. "I thought you were downstairs."

"No."

"I came to mend your pajamas."

"I see that," he replied. "Please don't turn around."

Mrs. Hughes knew what this meant. She blushed faintly as she realized why he was telling her not to turn around. He must have come up to his room to change his clothes. How could she have forgotten that he was going into the village for a committee meeting? It must have been someone else in his pantry talking on the telephone. Mrs. Hughes looked straight ahead and realized that his wardrobe was within her line of sight. _She_ was between him and his clothing.

"Mrs. Hughes, please get up and leave this room without turning around," he intoned. "After I'm gone you can come back and finish with that button, if you wish, but it's really not necessary. I'm sure I can finish it myself."

Mrs. Hughes stayed seated on the bed. "I'm sure you can, but-"

"Mrs. Hughes, _please go._"

She wasn't sure why she found it difficult - nay, impossible - to get up and leave. However, she did respect his wish that she not turn around. "I'd like to talk to you before you go to the village."

"I'll come down to your sitting room before I leave."

She ignored him. "I'll get your dressing gown. I can see it hanging on the inside of your door." She set aside the pajamas and got up from the bed. "I'll keep my eyes closed as I turn around and hand it to you."

"Mrs. Hughes." She tried to read his voice. More forceful, a hint of panic, no anger. Yet. "Please do as I say."

Mrs. Hughes reached the door and took his dressing gown from the hook where it hung. "Once I've given it to you, you can put it on, and then I'll open my eyes and we'll talk. What could be more proper?"

"You must be joking." Mr. Carson's voice was dead serious.

Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes, turned around, and walked toward Mr. Carson. She had misjudged her own position relative to the bed, however, and as she tried to go around the foot of it, her toe caught the leg and she pitched forward. The dressing gown fell to the floor and her eyes flew open in panic as her hands clawed the air in search of something to save her from crashing to the floor or, worse yet, hitting her head on something as she fell. She was more than halfway down when Mr. Carson stepped forward and caught her under her arms. Mrs. Hughes struggled to free her foot from the leg of the bed and stumbled in his direction, finally stabilizing herself with one hand on his bicep and the other on his chest. He moved his hands from under her arms to rest gently on her upper arms.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

She took a few more shaky breaths before her panic subsided and she could speak. "Yes," she breathed. "I think so."

Mr. Carson let her go once he was certain she could stand on her own, but she was still leaning lightly against him. Still trying to catch her breath, she rested her forehead between her hands, which now both rested against his chest. Her fingers tangled in the hair she found there and she inhaled deeply, comforted by his scent. "I'll have a nasty bruise on my knee, but-"

Mrs. Hughes then suddenly came back to herself and became forcefully aware of what she was doing. She sprang away from Mr. Carson, pulling her hands from his skin as though she had been burned. "Oh my God," she murmured, covering her mouth with her hands. "Mr. Carson, I'm so sorry. I..." She didn't even know what to say, she was so embarrassed. He was not naked, but he was very nearly so. She turned away and hurried to leave the room, but Mr. Carson stopped her.

"Wait," he said quietly. Mrs. Hughes stopped where she was. She was facing away from him again, but she heard him pick up his dressing gown and wrap it around himself. She also heard his bare feet crossing the floor and then his hand rested lightly on her shoulder. She stood stiffly and resolutely facing the door, but after a few moments, he gently turned her to face him and let his hand drop to his side. "Are you sure you're all right, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked, frowning slightly. "You've had quite a scare."

Mrs. Hughes relaxed a little, but looked off to the side. "Yes, I'm all right. Thanks to you." She raised her eyes to meet his. "Mr. Carson, I'm really very sorry. I don't know what came over me. I-"

"Mrs. Hughes," he interrupted, raising his hands again and placing them on her shoulders. "Please don't worry. You were in a panic and you didn't realize what you were doing. It's all right."

"I suppose that's true. I wasn't really thinking. For a moment it seemed like I was going to hit my head and then I was safe and then you were there and my hands just…" Mrs. Hughes sighed heavily. "Dear God, I'm just making it worse and worse," she murmured, turning her head from him.

"Shhh." Mr. Carson shushed her gently. "Don't try to explain any more." Mrs. Hughes was looking at the floor, shaking her head, trying to think if she'd ever been as mortified as she was right now. "It's all right. I promise." Mr. Carson touched her chin with two fingers, drawing her face up to look at him. His eyes opened wide when she was facing him, however; he had not realized how close he was standing to her. He felt himself sinking slowly into her lovely blue eyes. She could feel his breath on her face. They drew incrementally closer, until Mr. Carson took her face between his hands and kissed her, softly at first, and then more urgently. Mrs. Hughes let her arms slide around his middle and one of them inadvertently slipped inside his dressing gown, while the other stayed outside of it. Mr. Carson let his hands slide down from cradling her face to grip her shoulders. She kissed him harder and he let her, but soon he broke the kiss and tried to push her away from him.

"Mrs. Hughes," he panted. "You should go."

Mrs. Hughes resisted, holding him more closely, resting her ear on his chest. "Why?" she whispered. "You don't want me to go."

Mr. Carson made another attempt, this time succeeding at setting Mrs. Hughes away from himself. "You should go, because… there's a bed in this room."

Mrs. Hughes froze and looked at him questioningly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes. You really ought to go."

Now she did not try to fight him. He was holding her away from him by her shoulders, and his arms were longer than hers. Instead, Mrs. Hughes covered one of Mr. Carson's hands with hers and turned her head to place a kiss on his thumb. "Don't send me away, darling," she murmured.

"I must," he argued.

She returned her eyes to his and looked into them for half a minute at least before she spoke. "I love you."

Mr. Carson looked startled. "You what?"

"You heard me," she replied, growing impatient. "I love you. And there is a bed in this room. Both very good reasons for me to stay. What have you to say to that?"

He coughed, still surprised by her forthright speech. "What have I to say?" His hands slipped from her shoulders as he searched, bewildered, for a way to answer. At last he reached out and touched her cheek with his fingers, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I love you. Stay."

#####

Mr. Carson was a little late to the committee meeting that afternoon. Mrs. Hughes changed into her evening dress a little earlier than usual when she noticed that her morning dress had got creased. The day went on very much like the one before it and likely not much differently than the one after it would. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes talked over dinner much in the way they had for months. They gossiped, they argued, they teased, they flirted, and they exchanged glances full of unspoken meaning. Later, Mrs. Hughes came to Mr. Carson's pantry to wish him good night. She'd had an unusual day and was rather tired. He smiled at this and wished her pleasant dreams.

Mrs. Hughes really was tired and she changed quickly into her nightgown. She pulled the pins from her hair, quickly plaited it, and fell into bed. She was nearly asleep when she heard her bedroom door open and close.

"Who's there?" she mumbled sleepily.

"It's me, Elsie."

Mrs. Hughes's eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly. Mr. Carson was standing over her, in his pajamas and dressing gown.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him.

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "No, nothing. Thank you for replacing the missing button on my pajamas."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "You're welcome. Is that all?"

"Yes. No. That is, I wondered…"

"You wondered?" she prompted.

"Can I stay, Elsie?" He reached out and fingered the braid that hung over her shoulder.

She reached out to tug at his ear. "Charles, I really am tired."

"I know," he replied. "I am, too. I just want to sleep. With you."

Mrs. Hughes sat still, observing him for a moment. Then she gave a quick nod. "I want you out before the kitchen maid knocks at six." She lifted the sheet and blanket and allowed Mr. Carson to crawl into bed with her after he had shed his dressing gown and laid it on the chair.

"I love you," he murmured, curling up around her.

"I love you, too." She took his hand and kissed it.

They both fell asleep almost immediately. Mr. Carson was gone before the kitchen maid knocked the next morning. Mrs. Hughes knew they would not be subject to that six o'clock knock for much longer.

_The end._

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